


The First Rule of Fight Club is That

by AngryGinger (Error401)



Series: Bruises and Badassery [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Child Abuse, Frank is an ass, Ian is angsty, M/M, Protective!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error401/pseuds/AngryGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he should have been used to the pattern by now, the one where the men he was with were ashamed to be seen with him and did their best to make him feel guilty about liking them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Rule of Fight Club is That

With Mickey in jail, Ian thought he was gonna go crazy. Mickey was his vent, his out, where he didn’t need to think about anything except how hard to thrust his hips and where to direct the force. It was easy to get lost in the sex because he wasn’t a big fan of the afterward, when Mickey wouldn’t even look him straight in the eyes. 

 

Maybe he should have been used to the pattern by now, the one where the men he was with were ashamed to be seen with him and did their best to make him feel guilty about liking them. But he couldn’t help it. He was human. It hurt.

 

Kash left because he couldn’t handle the pressure, and good fucking riddance in Ian’s opinion. Except, it wasn’t down to Ian. It was down to the pregnant wife and two little kids that Kash was abandoning because he couldn’t deal with his own responsibility. Ian swore to himself that he would never turn into that, the self-hating asshole who ruined everything with their selfishness. Like Kash. Like Frank. Like what Lip was turning into with the whole Karen fiasco. 

 

Because of Lip’s stupid idea to get their DNA tested, the whole family found out that Frank wasn’t even his real father. Ian wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. Relieved? Depressed? Happy? In the end, he just felt numb. And now Frank had even more reason to hate him, like he couldn’t already come up with a hundred excuses on his own. 

 

Lip’s fight club was the easiest way to hide the bruises. 

 

Even though Ian could take down almost every poser that made their way to the warehouse, it was inevitable that he’d come away with a busted lip, bruised torso, black eye. It made the bruises that were already there a lot less suspicious, and he was able to get out some of his pent up anger in the process. A win-win. The drawback was that his reactions were slowing down, his flinching away was getting worse.

 

Lip had once asked him why he never hit Frank back, but Lip didn’t understand. Frank never hit Lip. Lip was always the smart one, the funny one, the one that could impress everyone with both his looks and his words. Ian never had that. He’d only started to like himself after he joined ROTC, and that was all he was holding onto, because he wasn’t good at anything else. 

 

“Well at least now I know why you don’t have any of my charm,” Frank said, slumping into the couch. “I can’t believe I wasted all those years taking care of you. A fucking ginger. Why didn’t I see it?”

 

“You never ‘took care of me,’ Frank,” Ian said, disgusted. 

 

“Shut your soulless mouth,” Frank slurred, lashing out a foot, which caught Ian in the knee, almost sending him to the ground. “Ungrateful little…”

 

“This is bullshit,” Ian grunted, quickly making his exit. He wasn’t going to stick around while his wasted father/uncle threw more insults at him. 

 

It was only a few days later that Mickey was released. “Good behavior,” they said, and Ian got a good laugh out of that one. He thought he did an adequate job of hiding the sting in his eyes when Mickey knocked his arm off, and he kept his cool even when all he wanted to do was back Mickey into a wall and fuck him senseless. Damn, he didn’t think prison was good for your health, but it sure did fucking wonders for Mickey and his arms. He never knew he had a thing for scruffy chins until Mickey stopped shaving.

 

Amazingly enough, it was Mickey who asked to meet him at the baseball field. Ian felt his heart jump when he looked up from the magazine he was reading at the register to see Mickey pop his head inside the door, looking understandably nervous. “Baseball field,” Mickey said. “Eleven.”

 

It was enough for Ian to blush like a twelve year old girl.

 

Ian felt awkward and out of place, small talk sounding ridiculous even as it left his mouth. He was sure Lip would never do something that stupid. The only that kept him going was the amused look in Mickey’s eyes, the one that always ended with Mickey’s pants on the ground and Ian on Mickey.

 

He talked about math, he talked about ROTC and his West Point dream even though he knew it was a stupid one, and he was surprised when thought he may have heard…was that worry in Mickey’s voice when he mentioned officers getting shot first? It didn’t really matter, because soon he was chugging beer faster than he could swallow it and Mickey was laughing at him. He would never admit out loud how much he loved Mickey’s laugh.

 

It was their second go-round when Ian’s leg decided to cramp up on him and, horrifyingly embarrassed, he had to take a step back before he fell over and knocked Mickey down with him. “The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey grunted in frustration, twisting around to see what the holdup was. 

 

“S-sorry,” Ian stuttered, face flushing red. “My leg—“

 

“The fuck happened?” Mickey demanded, only now noticing the sickly yellow bruise covering Ian’s knee and spreading towards his calf. He was turned on and his brain wasn’t functioning properly, but even he could tell that the bruise looked fucking painful.

 

“Nothing,” Ian said, composure regained, and he stepped back to behind Mickey, resisting the urge to run a hand through the delinquent’s sweaty hair. “Just some guy.”

 

“Some fucking guy,” Mickey repeated, shaking his head. “Same fuckin’ guy as before? You tell him he’s gonna be a dead fucking guy, he keeps this shit up.”

 

Ian smiled, assumed his previous position. He felt like he was on top of the world. When really he was just on top of Mickey. “Ready?”

 

“Fucking get on with it, firecrotch!” Mickey growled.

 

“Yes sir,” Ian grinned.

 

He was impressed that Mickey could even walk after all the sex, but maybe Mickey was just born to bottom, as Ian couldn’t remember a single time where Mickey had felt any pain after their meetings. It wasn’t something you could hide, even if you tried. Or maybe Ian was just an exceptionally good lover. 

 

Whatever it was, Mickey showed up at the Kash and Grab like agreed, and Ian managed to convince Linda that having Mickey around would cut shoplifting by astronomical amounts, mainly because their worst offender was Mickey himself, and now he had reason not to.

 

Ian failed to prevent the flinch as Frank sauntered in, and he only hoped that both Frank and Mickey had missed it. Frank pulled things from shelves, knocked others over, and finally approached the counter with an armful of groceries Ian was sure he didn’t need. And of course he tried to get out of paying for them, because he was Frank.

 

And of course Ian let himself be walked all over, because that was what he always did when it came to his sorry excuse of a father/uncle. Mickey, though, wasn’t having any of it. “You sure you don’t wanna check your pockets again?” he menaced, newly defined muscles straining the sleeves of his jacket. 

 

“Oh, would you look at that?” Frank hurried, pulling a twenty from his front pocket and slamming it onto the counter, offering one last glare to Ian before stomping off.

 

“I hate that guy,” Ian sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

 

“The whole city hates that guy,” Mickey agreed. “You think I should take care of him? I’d probably get a medal from the mayor, or some shit.”

 

“Take care of as in…ugh, no,” Ian shook his head.

 

“Why the fuck not? He’s an asshole.”

 

“He’s family,” Ian shrugged.


End file.
